cing matters. You and James Marsh will have to answer
to the proper authorities for as damnable and wicked a criminal
conspiracy as was ever plotted in the history of the State. In your
greed for gold you have deliberately done a great wrong. You have
committed subornation of perjury, you have wilfully concocted and
distorted evidence, all for the sordid miserable purpose of securing
dishonestly the control of funds belonging to another. Believing that
your political influence would hold you immune, you have outraged every
law of order and decency. You have robbed both the public and the
individual. You have become rich on the sufferings of those you have
victimized. There is hardly a crime in the calendar that may not be laid
at your door. Your past career is a matter of public record. Until now
you have gone scot-free. People knew of your misdeeds, your turpitudes
were a matter of common gossip, but everybody was afraid of you, afraid
to denounce you. They lacked proof. But now it is different. We have the
proofs at last. To-morrow your disgrace will be blazoned forth in
flaming 'scareheads' on the front page of every newspaper in the land.
You are a contemptible person--not worthy to be called a man! You are a
disgrace to the profession of which I myself have the honor to be an
humble member. But your day of reckoning is close at hand. In the case
of this poor unfortunate girl your greed has overreached itself. You
went too far--so far that, at last, your fellow conspirator refused to
follow you any longer. He has turned State's evidence. He will help
convict you and put you behind the bars!"

Mr. Ricaby halted a moment, for sheer want of breath. The bystanders,
trembling with excitement, crowded eagerly around, closely watching the
chief figures in this sensational denunciation. They expected that the
burly lawyer, rendered furious by all these insults, would attack his
opponent. Physically he was more than a match for Mr. Ricaby, and the
latter certainly had not spared his words. But there was no fight in
Bascom Cooley. On his pasty white, bloated face, the sweat stood out
like glistening beads. His fat, swine-like mouth quivered as, with
clenched fists, he replied hoarsely:

"What the h--ll are you talking about? Who'll believe all that rubbish?
What proofs have you got?"

Thus challenged, Mr. Ricaby returned to the attack.

"Proofs?" he almost shouted. "We've got all the proofs any jury will
want. Not only sh